The Hellfire Trilogy
by P.S. Speare
Summary: Historical AU. Ran's one goal had always been vengeance, and not even an innocent brunette would get in his way...until that innocent offered him a choice between a real life and an empty one. (Ran/Ken)


_Author's Note_: The Hellfire Trilogy was written as a (belated) birthday gift for Yaoke and her website. Happy Birthday, my friend. ^_^

_Additonal Author's Note_: I've taken liberties with some of the characters' name and anglicized them - although I did try to make them resemble their Japanese names as much as possible! :)

(***)

_General and Historical Notes_: 

_Sir Francis Dashwood and the Hellfire Club_ - Between 1750 and 1767, a group of men formed what is now commonly referred to as the Hellfire Club in a county just west of London, England. The club went by many names at the time ('Monks of Medmenham', 'Order of the Friars of St. Francis of Wycombe', 'Knights of St. Francis'), and was formed by a man who had a predilection for freethinking and wildness - Sir Francis Dashwood. He created the Hellfire Club with the intention of gathering men (often top politicians and aristocrats) who wished to indulge in sexual - and often sacrilegious - activities. The meetings of the society are shrouded in mystery with rumours ranging from mass orgies to gang rape associated to their proceedings. In this light, I've taken the liberty of including male victims in their games since it didn't seem like too far a stretch considering the Club's reputation and their deviant preferences. In fact, it was said that the Club's administrator, British poet Paul Whitehead, personally burned all records of the Club's meetings on his deathbed so that the secrets and rituals of the Hellfire Club would never be discovered.

_The Workings of the Club_ - The club was structured with religious undertones in mind, although they based most of their activities on ancient Roman and Egyptian mythology. The Inner Circle consisted of Dashwood himself, who was referred to as the Abbot, and 12 Apostles, the elite and often, most powerful men in British society. These Apostles included the likes of the Prince of Wales, the Duke of Queensbury, the Earl of Sandwich, and a couple of future Prime Ministers. The rest of the Club's members were simply known as monks and attended meetings with less responsibility but more access restrictions. The ceremonial outfits, as mentioned in this story, were ironically all white with the exception of Dashwood, who was allowed to wear a red cap to signify his position. Meetings were usually held twice a month, and the participants were in the most part willing to play the victims. Some aristocratic women actually volunteered for the sexual games, but the administrator, Whitehead, would also round up high-class whores from London and send them to the Abbey.

_Medmenham Abbey_ - Needing a place to conduct the meetings, Dashwood leased Medmenham Abbey from painter Francis Duffield, and sent builders and gardeners from his own estate to change the Abbey into a decent clubhouse. It was located 20 miles west of London and remained in a secluded grove by the Thames River. The stained glass mentioned in the story is the handiwork of an Italian artist by the name of Guiseppi Borgnis who had been hired by Dashwood. The Abbey's dining room hosted a statue of Harpocrates, the Egyptian God of Silence, and of the obscure Egyptian Goddess, Angerona - the latter's appearance in the story was made up since I couldn't find a decent picture of her. To emphasize the nature of the meeting place, its library and drawing room were plush affairs and were stocked with books ranging from the Bible to pornographic and occult literature. (In fact, Dashwood was said to have owned one of the first English translations of the Kama Sutra.) Furthermore, above the entrance was engraved the Club's Latin motto - 'Fay Ce Que Voudras' or 'Do as You Will.' Of note here is that due to a political scandal involving some of its members in the 1760s, the Club's meetings were moved from the Abbey itself to the underground caves near the property but the new location didn't work out very well and the Club eventually dispersed. By the time that this story occurs, the caves were very likely in use, but I've kept the location at the Abbey for dramatic purposes. 

(***)

_The Hellfire Trilogy  
Part 1: Seduction_

(***)

_Medmenham Abbey  
Buckinghamshire, England  
1765_

In all his twenty-four years of living, he had seen many sickening things, but none could compare to the depraved sight presented by the men around him. Even his three years as a resident of London's illustrious Newgate prison hadn't exposed him to anything of this ilk. In the dank, dark bowels of his jail, he had seen and tasted a squalor and despair that still haunted his dreams on empty nights, but this ... this was on a completely different level.

The honourable Ayden Ranford Ferrence - a name he had happily shortened to Ran for his friends' and his own sake - inconspicuously glanced around at the richly clad figures standing in anticipation of the upcoming activity. The evening's 'festivities' had yet to begin, but that did not deter the gathered few from arranging themselves in a large circle around the only furniture in the candlelit meeting room - the sacrificial altar.

The ceremonial chamber of Medmenham Abbey was modeled as a tribute to the pagan ritual set-up of old, the monotony of the stone walls only broken by the presence of a set of double doors. The space was fairly large, easily accommodating thirty people, but for all its size, nothing dwelled within save the heavy stone slate that sat at its center. Several candelabrums littered the corners of the wide expanse, casting an eerie glow onto the floor, ceiling, walls, and the room's current inhabitants. Now, these inhabitants ... they were a perfect contrast to the sparseness of the chamber and a different story altogether.

The Hellfire Club - or the 'Monks of Medmenham' as a majority of those present preferred to be called - was a group of England's top nobles, politicians, and wealthy patrons who were reputed for their sexually deviant and licentious ways, but Ran still had to witness the heart of their overindulgences. Their sacrilegious activities were spoken of in low tones throughout the prestigious parlours and salons of London, ostentatiously mentioned with disdain but secretly viewed upon with curiosity by the two-faced aristocrats. And after prodding enough information from those shallow Peers of the Realm, Ran had invested his whole self into gaining admittance into such a club.

However, his attendance wasn't to satisfy the darkest of his sexual desires; it was for something else altogether.

Vengeance.

The very thought of his objective sent a rush of heated blood through his body, an action that reinforced his determination and fortified his convictions. His eyes unconsciously shifted to the tall, dark-haired figure standing arrogantly across the room - a man entirely oblivious of his inevitable downfall.

Brad Crawford, the Viscount of Bedingham.

Ran's fists clenched of their own accord at the sight of the man. Because of that subtly conniving aristocrat, the past nine years of his life had been a living hell. Because of Crawford, he had lost everything dear to him, and had spent the last six years scraping and clawing his way out of the gutter. Because of him, Ran had spent many sleepless nights plotting his revenge and working his way into the Club. And it would take nothing short of a miracle to stop him from destroying everything about that devil incarnate.

"Gentlemen, your attention please. I, your Abbot, shall now explain this evening's theme." A loud clap accompanied the deep voice, and en masse, every man in the chamber turned to face the 'Abbot' - Sir Francis Dashwood.

Dashwood was a man well into his fifties with graying hair and a thickening middle, but none of that detracted from the youthful impetuousness and unsuppressed free spirit he exuded. Indeed, he managed to cut a quite figure still in his pristine white jacket and trousers.

Ran fingered his own white apparel self-consciously and pulled his light cloak around him. The ceremonial garb had been required today, and if his purpose for being here wasn't so serious, he might have been thoroughly amused by the image of a room full of men - young and old, jaded nobles and high-ranking politicians - all dressed in white like a debutante out for her first Season. They even sported round, white caps, save for Sir Francis whose position as the Club's president entitled him to a fur-trimmed red one.

"Today, my lords and noble sirs," Dashwood declared proudly, "we will enact a chase that will do Diana, the Goddess of the Hunt, proud. In a moment, our prey will be brought in and you will have a chance to mark your target. But choose wisely, my friends, for too short a chase may not prove satisfying and too long of one may prove exhausting."

A gentle murmur of excitement spread throughout the congregated men, and Sir Francis smiled at the anticipatory tension that saturated the air. "After inspection, our little hunted ones will be let loose into the Abbey and given free reign. It is your task to hunt them down. Once your prey has been caught, you may do with it what you will for the night. And, as an added gift, tonight's victims may be taken home as your prize - a trophy, if you will; however, they must be returned for the next meeting in a month's time."

Voices of appreciation followed the 'Abbot's' show of generosity, but Ran found himself slightly uneasy with the proposition. What kind of people would volunteer to be this prey Dashwood spoke of? Surely, being treated as an animal - no, to be treated as a _thing_ - wasn't an idea that sat well with many. Of course, from the rumors he had heard, tonight's meeting would contain a selection of young males as well as the habitual females - the inclusion only occurring every second meeting, or once a month - so the number of victims would be greater.

"My lords, and honourable Gentlemen, I present to you the hunted."

On Dashwood's signal, Ran watched the society's administrator, Paul Whitehead, open the double doors and usher in a succession of young nubile bodies. Many of the innocent-looking victims were half-naked - including the females - and being new to such a sight of exposed flesh, Ran fought hard not to gawk.

To keep his mind off the offering of silky candlelit skin, he turned his attention to Crawford. Being a novice in the Club and standing off in one of the far corners, his presence had yet to draw any attention, and he wouldn't have had it any other way. Tugging his cap a little further down over his noticeable red hair, he watched his quarry from beneath the brim.

The short parade of 'prey' hadn't piqued the man's interest much - a calculated look of ennui and detachment ever present in those golden eyes - until the very end when the last body entered. It was then that what might have been labeled a spark of interest flashed across Crawford's face.

At this, Ran straightened, his own interest flaring. He glanced quickly over at what had caught the other man's eye.

The boy couldn't have been more than twenty years, but those fiery brown eyes bespoke of strength of spirit that was twice that age. The soft candle's glow hugged the sculpted curves of the young victim's finely toned arms and chest, and yet, somehow, Ran knew that same body would be smooth to the touch. Whoever this boy was, he didn't possess the thin, limpid figures of the aristocracy, and even if the disheveled brown hair that hung in an enticing mess didn't give his station away, then the healthy glow he exuded did. Everything about the boy was a direct contradiction to the powdered and wigged tastes that was all the fashion among the nobles.

Ran had heard rumors that Crawford harboured an affinity for the same sex, and had recently taken a liking to one within the Club's offerings. With this little bit of evidence, he was closer to publicly humiliating and destroying the dark-haired man. To put it mildly, King George and the Court did not look kindly upon sodomists. Now all he had to do was get a hold of that boy, and he would have this part of Crawford's life sealed.

As if to give Ran the affirmation he needed, the black-haired man stepped toward his intended prey and ran an inspecting hand down the side of the boy's face. Reacting like the touch had scalded him, the young brunette shook off the touch and backed away, only to receive a quick, disciplinary backhand across the cheek from Crawford. Ran almost shouted his objection at such rough treatment when the burning defiance the boy turned on his tormentor stopped him. With as much dignity as all the aristocrats in the room combined, the brunette held his head high and looked challengingly at Crawford. The act in itself drew a few good-natured chuckles from the surrounding observers and an angry glare from the raven-haired man, but without saying a word, the brunette had managed to make a fool out of Crawford.

Oddly enough, the boy had also managed to gain a little of Ran's respect.

"Gentlemen, the prey will be released shortly," Dashwood's deep voice attempted to bring order back to the task at hand. "And remember, my young victims, there is no escape off this property. The Abbey gates have been locked and the River Thames flows through the back, so unless you wish for a watery death, no freedom awaits you there. But you do have free reign over the rest of the Abbey and the grounds so make good use of it. You will only have three minutes before I unleash the hunters so seek out your dens quickly. Now, go!"

Again, Whitehead ushered the young bodies out in a rush, and in the distance, Ran heard the flurry of running feet. Quickly, he looked over at Crawford and noticed a subtle gleam of anticipation on the man's face, an expression that would've been easily missed if one weren't looking closely enough.

Ran felt his resolve hardening.

He would win this. 

He would destroy Crawford and make the man suffer the flames of Hell as he had suffered.

But first, he had to catch that boy.

"My friends, there is much to be said for the rewards of a good hunt. Remember our club's motto: Fay ce que voudras," Dashwood said encouragingly and glanced quickly down at his pocket watch. "And now, let the chase begin ..."

(***)

Ken had always led a simple life.

Food, clothes, home, family ... those were the things he enjoyed and cherished. Those were the things he valued and would protect with his life. But at the moment, those were the things that were as far from his reach as the moon and the stars.

His legs were moving as fast as physically possible but still, he could feel the muscles begin to strain and his chest begin to burn. After all, he was simply human and the limitations of his body were quickly slowing him down. Finally ceding his pace to the cries of his tired limbs, he paused and leaned forward on a nearby stone pillar to catch his breath.

The chamber he had stopped in echoed with the hollowed movement of air, which only emphasized his own solitude as the continued 'whoosh' from the Abbey's vaulted ceiling became an almost deafening sound. The others he had started running with had long dispersed to find their own hiding spots, some of them actually intent on enjoying the game. But he ... he had ran away blindly for fear of being caught by that man ... again.

Ken rested his heated forehead against the cool surface upon which he leaned. The stone immediately began to draw away the fire that warmed his skin, leaving him with a momentary, and illusory, sense of relief.

How had he gotten here?

How had he ended up like this?

He shut his eyes tightly and cursed himself for asking those questions when deep down, he knew the answers.

It was all his own fault.

He had asked for this, however unconsciously, and he had walked right into this, however blindly.

A little over two months ago, he had been nothing more than a farmer's son, content to help his father with their fields in Norfolk, and look after his younger siblings like a dutiful brother. And now, because of a small miscommunication and one stupid choice, he was running in the halls of some depraved noble's Abbey away from a man who had taken away his innocence.

An angry fist came up and met the hard resistance of the pillar. Pain snaked its way up his wrist and through his arms at the impact, yet Ken clenched his teeth and ignored it. He hadn't even known it was possible between two men, and now, his views of the entire world were slowly shifting and being redefined.

He had to find a way out of here. He didn't care how, but he had to get out of here before that dark-haired man found him. He couldn't get caught again. Once had been enough. After all this time, his struggles still sounded in the buried shadows of his memories, and he would do anything to avoid compounding them.

Thus, he had to get out.

Of course, he would have to figure where he was first and how to solve this maze of an Abbey.

Ken turned and looked around the chamber he had decided to rest in. All above him, breathtaking works of ecclesiastical stained glass and frescos littered the walls in a sight that bespoke wealth and seemed as impressive now in the candlelit darkness as it would be during daylight. Even with his uneducated eyes, the young brunette could tell that a master had rendered these, and had his situation been less dire, he might have actually stayed to thoroughly admire them. But his gaze soon moved onwards, seeking out the furniture in the room, and registering the long table and numerous chairs that dominated the center.

The dining room.

He must be in the dining room then, he concluded as he took in the high quality tablecloth and the lushness of the seats. To be honest, the sheer magnitude of such a setting awed him: his entire village could probably fit into this room alone, and the fact that such a place belonged to a lord who used it for perverse entertainment somehow angered him.

Forcing his attention onto something else, Ken's eyes eventually alighted on the two statues at opposite ends of the chamber - one of a short, round boy and the other of a beautiful, curvaceous woman, both with their index fingers near their lips. He didn't know who or what these figures were supposed to depict, but he understood that they held more significance than their apparent decorative value.

Sometimes, the rich were a whole separate species apart, he mused regretfully. The way they thought, the things they did ... it always eluded his comprehension.

A sudden shuffling from one of the chambers entrances had his whole body tense automatically just then. His heart began to pound furiously in its confining cage as he pushed away from his stone support and threw a quick nervous glance behind him.

Someone was coming.

He was unaware of who it was but he couldn't risk being found by anyone.

And so, with motions bordering on frantic, he began to run. He didn't know where he was headed, yet his destination was the furthest thing from his mind as the cold gripping fingers of fear wrapped themselves around his throat. The residual feeling of helplessness spurred his tired legs onward as his consciousness gave way to the primal need for survival.

He wouldn't get caught. He couldn't get caught ... not again.

The words ... such simple words ... flittered stubbornly and repeatedly through his head, refusing to let him give up, refusing to let him give in. He wouldn't allow himself to think on the consequences of failing - because it would _not_ happen - and merely concentrated on escaping.

The stone walls passed by him in a candlelit blur, the doors, both closed and opened, that lined the corridors offering him choice upon choice of altering his own fate. But he didn't make any radical changes in his direction, opting to head for the end of the hallway he had found himself in and hoping that it perhaps led out of this monstrosity of a prison.

The door at the end of his path soon appeared before him like a promised trophy, the weak rays of moonlight that filtered in through the nearby stained glass casting an ethereal glow around it. And Ken made it his prize as he turned his head briefly during his madcap dash to determine if he still had a pursuer following.

The distant thumping of stalking feet was his answer.

Damn!

Jaw tightening with fear and anger, Ken focused forward and forced his burning lungs and cramping muscles to endure the last few steps toward the goal. He didn't hesitate to yank open the heavy door when he finally reached it and stumbled inside.

What greeted his eyes was far from the freedom he had previously envisioned.

With only one wall-mounted candelabrum as a light source, Ken looked disbelievingly at the ominous stairs presented before him in the flickering orange glow. Every instinct within the brunette screamed at him to turn the other way, to forget this route he had chosen, but the nearing footsteps stopped him.

Ken swallowed hard and tried to breathe through the lump in his throat. The stairs led down into the unknown, but surely that was better than being caught, he reasoned when he finally took a step forward. He kept reminding himself of his promise to escape and soon, he found his feet traversing the steps with a speed that put his prior run to shame. In fact, with the encompassing darkness he'd found himself descending into, he was surprised he didn't trip and break his neck.

It wasn't long before the candlelit glow of the next level came into view below him, the hard grey floors surprisingly clean for a section of the Abbey that was supposedly underground. Taking the last step at a slower pace, Ken looked around at his new setting.

A couple of struggling lanterns hung carelessly against the nearby walls but even their weak light managed to penetrate at least a good portion of the large chamber. And the things Ken saw caused his jaw to drop and his heart to stop in his chest.

A dungeon.

An honest, authentic medieval dungeon, complete with the infamous rack and heavy chains along the walls.

What an abbey was doing with such a chamber, Ken didn't know but he had a feeling that this place had only been created recently and had not been a part of the structure's original design.

At that very moment, he wanted to hit something and scream at whatever greater power had led him to this place. He had thought that he'd made a legitimate bid for freedom; instead, he'd only exacerbated his own captivity. And unfortunately, the symbolism of his predicament wasn't lost on him.

"I've got you now," a nasal-intoned voice said from behind him, the upper class accent reminding Ken of his situation. "It was a wonderful chase, my elusive one, but I do believe the trophy will far exceed my expectations."

Before Ken had a chance to evade his captor, a pair of surprisingly strong arms encircled him from behind, and pushed him up against the nearest wall with a force that rattled the adjacent chains as well as his teeth. His breath left his lungs in a rush upon impact, and for a moment, he couldn't seem to draw any air into his constricted chest. Only when he felt the foreignness of cold metal grace across his skin did he manage to twist around and take a look at his attacker.

A pair of bright blue eyes met his unwavering brown ones as Ken took in the stranger who had caught him. The man looked to be well into his forties with a gaunt face and pale powdered skin that was all the rage among the fobs and dandies of the upper echelons. Yet, despite the effeminate features presented before him, the aggressive stranger acted with an arrogance and a posture that could only label him a formidable opponent.

"Now, that's a good boy ... " the man cooed as the rattling of the nearby chains finally registered.

"Get off of me," Ken ground out with tempered anger as he belatedly forced his body to struggle. The sudden tautness of the dungeon chains only told him that he'd waited too long to fight back. He tugged experimentally at his restrained arms and cursed himself for being such a bloody idiot. "Let me go, or I swear, you'll regret it."

The venom that laced his steely gaze and strained voice would have deterred any man, but the effect was lost on the smirking aristocrat. The pale-faced noble simply 'tsked' and pressed himself against the brunette.

Instinctively, Ken recoiled and turned away, his arms pulling against their restraints to hit the aggressor. With no success in that avenue, he brought his knee up in hopes of attacking the man's vulnerable lower body. His mark was true when his bent joint met soft flesh, and the stranger doubled over in a yelp of pain. Ken couldn't prevent a satisfied smile from spreading on his lips.

Yet, with a surprisingly quick recovery time, the other man straightened somewhat and furiously cuffed the unsuspecting brunette across the face. The contact was so sudden that Ken's head jerked back against the stone wall as tears formed unwanted in his eyes. The younger man was certain he also tasted blood on his tongue from where his teeth had cut the inside of his mouth.

"That'll teach you to disobey your master," the stranger snarled as he finally regained enough composure to stand completely straight. With one rough movement, the other man had Ken's jaw in a tight grip, and forced those defiant brown eyes to stare at him. "Never disobey me," the aristocrat enunciated slowly in the captured man's face.

Ken tried to turn his head away, but his efforts proved futile, especially when the other man leaned forward and ground their mouths together.

His attacker tasted of tobacco, brandy, and some undefined substance that almost made Ken gag. But he continued to struggle, his arms straining against the metal bonds that clinked musically against the stone walls, and his head fighting against the vise-like hand that gripped his jaw.

"I don't suppose I could join?" a deceptively ignorant voice said out of nowhere.

The pale-faced noble broke the one-sided kiss at the sudden intrusion and turned deadly eyes to the interloper who had just entered the chamber. But not a single word left the man's mouth before he was knocked to the ground by a well-place fist to the face from the new arrival. Ken watched in disbelief as his attacker slumped against him and then slid, unconscious, to the ground. The man's despicable taste still lingered on his lips, and in an act of pure spite, he spat on the fallen figure.

That done, he finally raised his eyes to his saviour.

During his youth, Ken had always been enthralled by the stories the elderly local vicar had told him. There had been tales of heroes and of angels pure, of virtue and valor untarnished, but no story had ever captured him as much as that of the archangel Lucifer and his tragic fall from grace. Even though the fallen being had been reputedly bestowed with a beauty beyond words, Ken had always felt drawn to that fallibility - an undeniable weakness that had been buried behind a façade of untouchable perfection.

And so it was then that Ken realized he had come face to face with Lucifer ... or a man who could have easily passed for the fallen angel.

Hair beyond crimson carelessly framed a fine-featured, symmetrical face. Eyes of an unnatural violet hue rested steadily upon him and with the flickering light of the nearby lanterns, Ken would've easily believed that the dancing light reflected from that gaze was of an ethereal origin. But something in those piercing amethyst gems called out to him, pulled and tugged at him until he felt something in his soul stir. Yet, as entranced as the brunette was by this stranger, the redhead seemed unaware of the effect he had on others.

Ken didn't want to speak, not because he was speechless, but because of some unconscious desire to not ruin the moment with the crudity of words. Thus, he remained transfixed on his saviour, eyes silently beseeching the other man to ... to ...

It occurred to the brunette then that he was unsure of what he wanted now exactly. Yes, he wanted freedom, but oddly enough, he didn't feel like and didn't want to run anymore.

Yet, before Ken could make any objections, the redhead was untangling the chains that had been haphazardly wrapped around his arms, the melodic clinking of the metal the only sound to break the surreal silence in the chamber. The restraints were disposed of in seconds, and without thinking, Ken stepped away from the wall and brushed precariously close to his saviour. The redhead's clean, inviting scent drifted unbidden into the younger man's nose, and discreetly, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to soak in as much of the stranger's essence as he could. Reason and practicality had fled his mind for he could not rationally explain his body's actions, but it somehow felt ... right.

Turning his head in an effort to seek the stranger's eyes once more, Ken discovered that the redhead had turned his own face away, refusing to make any contact with the former captive. He didn't know why, but the brunette felt a little hurt by the action. Still, he understood the hint without any help.

The other man was letting him go - no questions asked and no reward required.

Ken bit his lower lip as an inexplicable uncertainty assaulted him. This man, this stranger who had just saved him was letting him go, but there seemed to be some internal price to pay, and the brunette couldn't tear himself away from that well-masked struggle he'd seen in the redhead's eyes.

Nevertheless, he'd been given his freedom.

With one last moment of hesitation, Ken quickly turned away and ran up the stairs before reason deserted him again ... and before the stranger's spell ensnared him once more.

(***)

Callused fingers fisted until the knuckles turned white and the muscle tension became almost intolerable. Ran squeezed his eyes shut and expelled an angry breath as the dying echo of running feet sounded behind him.

Why?

Why had he let his instrument of vengeance go?

Why?

In response, a pair of soulful brown eyes flashed in his mind, asking, beseeching, pleading for something he could have easily given. And for some reason, he couldn't deny the brunette.

Fury and frustration built to a debilitating crescendo in him, and with a feral grunt, he turned around with a hardened expression and began to follow his supposed prey.

He had tracked the boy throughout the whole abbey, outwitting Crawford and finding the prize first. He refused to let his entire night's efforts go to waste. He would catch the boy again, and this time, he wouldn't be affected by the brunette's allure as he had just been.

It didn't take long for him to ascend the stairs, and once he reached the main level, he caught sight of a disappearing flash of bare flesh. Steps firm with resolve, Ran quickly headed in the same direction, swiftly traversing a couple of corridors before he found himself exiting the Abbey's south exit. The cool night air hit the redhead with a force that was both disorienting and refreshing, but it was easily dismissed in lieu of the scene before him.

Ran had seen the Thames countless times in London, but in the city, it often revolted him, its waters harbouring all the waste and refuse that humanity could throw in it. Yet, here, in the country, the river seemed different, its dark demesnes mysterious and magical beneath the clear moonlit sky. It lined the back property of Medmenhan Abbey and provided the perfect natural border. Still, practicality aside, the shimmering waters also provided the perfect backdrop to the Abbey's gardens.

Statues of ancient gods and goddesses lined an elaborate design of pathways and benches on Medmenham's lush green grass. It was a landscape that had required countless hours of labour, and Ran had no doubt that Dashwood hadn't spared a single shilling in its creation.

It was within this stone garden that the redhead finally spotted his quarry weaving in and out of the neatly manicured lawn. The brunette would come upon the river soon, and unless he was planning on jumping in, he would be trapped.

Ran quickly closed the distance between the two of them, and as he approached, he noticed that his target had stopped moving. Standing before a fairly large statue of Venus, the brunette must've seen him coming and had stopped to wait, his chest heaving and his eyes locked on his pursuer.

Ran met and held the other man's gaze, subconsciously steeling himself to not fall prey to that enigmatic aura again. And yet, as he neared, his heart sped up and his skin tingled with anticipation.

The night air almost crackled audibly as they came face to face again, and for the very first time since he'd seen the boy, Ran became aware of the captivating beauty of the man before him. Innocence and strength had carved and etched their presence into the contours of that face, and although the pale, smooth skin almost glowed with youthful freshness, there dwelled an indescribable and hidden ferocity in those eyes. As if pulled by a golden thread, Ran found himself leaning closer to the younger man.

Inch by inch, the distance between them vanished until the redhead felt the boy's warm breath caress his skin. Without anymore thought, he closed the remaining gap and pressed his lips against the other man's soft, unresisting ones. Given a lifetime of reflection, Ran would never be able to explain why he had done what he did, but when the contact was made, he had felt the entire world melt away and such trivial matters become inconsequential.

Surprisingly, the boy didn't refuse the offering, but he didn't respond either, and it wasn't until Ran started to taste the veritable feast presented to him that he realized the brunette's immobility was due more to inexperience rather than displeasure. Gently, the redhead brought a hand up to the side of the boy's jaw, coaxing and encouraging with his gesture as he began to tutor his naïve partner with his mouth.

It was a kiss of unqualified sensuality, of denied passion, and of sultry seduction all rolled into one, and although Ran was reluctant to part with the honeyed taste, he eventually broke the contact to stare at the younger man in front of him.

Anger, hatred, and self-loathing would come later, but at the moment, he reveled in the riot of conflicting emotions that churned within him. He couldn't justify what he had just done, and frankly, he didn't want to.

The brunette returned his gaze unwaveringly, his body a little breathless and his cheeks a little flushed. Like two impassioned lovers standing alone in a moonlit garden, there was a certain magical quality about the moment, and against his better judgment, Ran didn't want it to end. But then, the fragile tableau shattered with a crash that was almost too loud to bear, and reality came rushing in.

With a breathy whisper, the brunette finally spoke, the entreaty written on his face piercing its way deep into Ran's soul. "Please, take me away from here ... "

End Part 1

_End Note_: Part 2 (Surrender) and Part 3 (Salvation) will not be posted by me. This was originally written as a gift for a good friend, Yaoke (who has/will have the rest of the story!), and it will be entirely up to her to post the ending where and when she pleases. So consider this first part as somewhat of a teaser. ^_^  



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